Of The Deepest Blue
by Vaudeville
Summary: Second in the Volition series: Evey realizes how little she truly knows about her captor and how much she would truly like to know. V considers how much he has kept from her, and how he would like to keep it that way.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

Evey watched him. Or rather, she made surreptitious glances at him out of the corner of her eye from time to time. They had sat down about an hour ago to watch a movie together called 'Dances With Wolves'. After the first half hour, she lost interest in the film and turned her focus over to the mysterious man next to her.

_I don't know a thing about him,_ Evey thought. _I've been living here with him for a month and a half and I hardly know him at all. I don't know where he's from. I don't know when his birthday is. I don't even know what his real name is!_ She frowned lightly, glancing over at him once more. By the slightest tilt of his head, she could tell that he was looking back at her. She snapped her head back to stare intently at the screen. For several moments, she sat as still as she could manage, hardly breathing for fear he might notice anything out of the ordinary.

_I wonder what his favorite food is or his favorite song._ Evey smiled softly, _I could guess._ Not the title, no, but definitely the tune. She would catch him humming it every once in a while when he was cooking or examining his paintings. She had never heard him sing, but if his words sung sounded anything like his words spoken, she knew that she would fall instantly in love with his song.

Her eyes wandered over to him once more, praying he wouldn't notice.

"Evey?"

She turned her head completely to look at him fully, feigning innocence. "Yes?"

"Is something the matter, my dear?" Ah, that voice, as if he were already singing her a lullaby. It made her skin tingle.

"No, I'm fine," she sighed, smiling. "What would make you think something was wrong?"

V tilted his head, quite obviously regarding her, a smile palpable in his voice. "Mmn, well it may be the manner in which you glance my way every few moments," he paused, noting how she squirmed at his assertion. "Or perhaps that you are pouting."

Evey's frown deepened as she looked at him and she quickly turned her face back to look at the telly. A deep shade of pink colored her cheeks as she fussed with the hem of her skirt. "You don't miss a thing do you?" She asked, a touch of aggravation in her voice. He'd caught her.

"The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it."

She smiled at this but didn't reply.

A moment of silence passed between them. V had expected an answer, but when he saw that it wasn't coming without further prying, he asked, "What is troubling you, Evey?"

"I-" she paused, looking down from the screen and back at him for a moment, quickly adverting her eyes again as she finished. "I'm cold."

V sat there and gazed at her for a long moment. What thoughts or expressions were hidden by that mask, Evey couldn't say, but when he stood and left the room, she was sure that she had somehow upset him.

-----

'Dances With Wolves' - Disclaimer applies

'The power of accurate observation is commonly called cynicism by those who have not got it.' George Bernard Shaw


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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V hummed quietly to himself as he flew silently down the hall. _My lady is cold. I shall fetch her a blanket._ This particular December had brought on a severely bitter chill, especially to the occupants of the Shadow Gallery. V tried to keep it heated to both their comfort levels but he usually adjusted to her frosty toes rather than to his own needs.

Some nights, however, it was so warm in the gallery that V could hardly stand it. The thought of Evey catching a whiff of his perspiration or seeing wet spots in the few areas he had sweat glands left disgusted him. Either way he made sacrifices for her. Tonight would be no different. He briefly stepped into his room to turn up the thermostat.

V smiled softly as he went, wondering how many times Evey had pled innocence and had used excuses such as the chill of the Gallery to distract his attention. _I will cater to your request for now as long as you submit to mine later._

He returned to the room that Evey called the 'telly room' a few moments later, blanket in hand, to find that his companion had disappeared. The movie was still playing, the pillows where they had left them, a glass of water on the side table. V sighed and draped the blanket across the back of the sofa as he stepped around it. He sat on the edge of the seat and picked up the remote to pause the movie. He waited a few moments, listening carefully for any indication that Evey had simply gone to the kitchen or to use the loo, but there was nothing.

He stood and walked pointedly to her room. The door was open, darkness within but no indication of her presence. He stepped forward and rapped two gloved knuckles on the door as he peered in. "Evey?"

V heard a squeal of laughter and the door was shut abruptly in his face. He stepped back suddenly to avoid collision, a frown opposing the smile covering it. "Evey?" he asked again, leaning close to the door to hear her.

"Just a second, V," came her muffled voice.

"Is anything the matter?"

There was no response but the door opened a moment later. The lamp at Evey's bedside illuminated the room behind her, casting her silhouette in the doorway. "I was changing my clothes." V squinted against the shine of the light as he looked her over, affording no courtesies as he forgot to mask his indulgence. She had changed out of her usual blouse and skirt and had dressed down into her red silk nightgown, a gift from the masked vigilante that was a bit of a treat for himself as well. Yet, as to date, he had not seen her wear it, though he realized that she had on several occasions when he gathered her soiled clothing to be laundered.

He swallowed, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. It was only in her presence that he lost his words. He had quite openly given her a once over and now had lost all sense of direction in both words and action. Evey blushed under his scrutiny and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yes, I see that," he finally choked out, his voice not quite his own. He tilted his head as though to pose a question, unsure he was able to ask, but he recovered himself finally and he added, "Wishing to cut our evening short? It is only half past the hour of ten."

V was used to staying up until odd hours, Evey knew, and she tried to keep up. He was her only companion and he was busy most of the time. The only time she could pry him away from his work was usually in the morning and early afternoon. She had bribed him into staying in tonight by promising to watch any film he chose, just as long as he stayed with her. It was disappointing that she would turn in for the night already.

"I thought you had… Gone off to bed." Evey frowned lightly. It wasn't the first time that V had left abruptly, leaving her to herself for an indefinite amount of time. Usually it was something she had said or done that had upset him and driven him to flee. And tonight she thought she had done it again but that simply wasn't the case. V clearly wasn't upset at all, she could see in the way he stood and spoke to her.

"No," he replied simply, tilting his mask again, slightly to the left. His voice had softened, lowered an octave, addressing the topic gently. "I got up to fetch you a blanket," he added, bringing his hands together before him. He knew that it hurt her when he left without explanation, even more so when he didn't return.

He then held out a gloved hand to her and bowed his head lightly, "Would you care to finish the movie with me?"

Evey bit her lip, glancing down at the proffered hand. "Should I change back into my regular clothes again?"

She saw him hesitate, his form stiffening slightly. He was considering it. "That is for you to decide."

Evey nearly melted. His voice was wrought with such uncertainty and even a touch of sadness. _Which do I choose?_

"I'll be out in a moment."

V bowed again and walked away.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

V slowly backtracked to the telly room and waited. He couldn't shake the image of Evey in her nightgown. When he appropriated the gift from a nearby store, he had imagined that it would bring him a great deal of pleasure to see her wear it. However, he hadn't anticipated the kind of pleasure it had given given him. He felt inappropriate, indecent even. _Well, why not? I am a man, aren't I?_

Evey was in her room changing now. She must have noticed his reaction. She'd never wear it in front of him again, he was sure. He wrung his hands nervously as he slowly paced the room. It was probably best that he never see her wear it again. He couldn't afford any such excitement in front of her.

He sauntered over to the sofa and sat down on the edge of it. He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, hands clasped together, supporting the chin of his mask as he rested it there in thought. Oh, but how lovely she looked! How beautiful and delicate was his Evey. _His_ Evey? No, never his.

She must have put that nightgown on only to taunt him. _No,_ V shook his head. That had not been her motive. For what purpose would that serve but to seduce him? He chuckled cruelly. "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation," he whispered to himself. "Don't be a fool."

Evey finally opened her bedroom door, ready to emerge once more, a light shawl draped across her bare shoulders. She hadn't changed. He had given her the nightgown for a reason. Had he expected never to see her wear it? She wasn't dressed in her bloody knickers, for crying out loud!

But, then again, he was always so formal and proper. He never dressed down in the evenings. He was always dressed in the same manner. Dark, clean, smooth. Even in her casual, every day ensemble she felt under dressed compared to him. Evey remembered how shocked he seemed when she had picked a piece of lint off of his chest. The recollection brought a smile to her lips despite her situation. She glanced down at herself as she hesitated at her own door. Was this the equivalent to being undressed before him? If so, what was he doing giving her such a gift?

What about that look he had given her, though? So withdrawn; even a bit fearful. Goose pimples rose to the surface, inducing a shiver at just the thought. A proclaimed terrorist fearful of a little thing like her in a negligee? And what emotion was there to take from the ever-grinning façade? What sentiment? Desire? Most definitely, and that frightened her.

But why was she afraid? Evey couldn't discern between her own feelings of aversion and want. How long had it been since a man had looked at her like that? Glanced her way without hidden intent of lust? It hadn't been but a few months before her abduction that she had been with a man, though years since she had been loved by one. She knew that look. It was veiled desire that she both warranted and refuted.

She steadied her courage and continued down the corridor, making her way back to him. She stepped slowly around the side of the sofa and nodded to V in acknowledgment as he stood to silently greet her. She sat and he followed suit, tapping the play button on the remote and resuming the movie. The deliberate space between their persons wasn't lost on either of them.

_Surely she is doing this on purpose,_ V convinced himself, gazing at her out of the corner of his eye. Neither was aware of the war waging inside the other. Well, at least V was sure she didn't notice his discomfort. Her own was as obvious as it had been earlier, though, while it had been playful and kind before, her discomfort now help an unpleasant air. She was trying to watch him again. V was thankful that his own glances were lost behind the mask.

Then, as though she had heard his thoughts, Evey gained her feet and walked toward him. V turned his head toward her to look at her pointedly, a questioning tilt to the mask. She gave him an awkward smile and leaned toward him. Could she hear his heart pounding as she neared him? Hear his trembling gasp? She reached out and he nearly flinched as her deft fingers came at him… and moved past him to grasp the blanket he had brought for her: the blanket he had unknowingly pinned to the sofa with his own weight.

"Oh," said he, a curiously reveled sound. He stood slowly and twisted to look at the object of her attention. "My apologies. I had forgotten."

"No, please. It's alright," she told him, smiling at him as she pulled the blanket free and he seated himself again. And then there was that moment again: that moment of quietly exchanged glances.

To his surprise and mounting delight, Evey sat next to him again, as she had earlier. She tucked the blanket around herself, even up to her shoulders. A wistful smile touched at V's lips.

-----

'The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.' Henry David Thoreau


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

One long, dexterous finger tapped impatiently on the arm of the sofa. Evey was no longer watching the movie, V could tell. It was harder to see her now that she sat next to him. The mask narrowed his range of vision to where he could just barely make out the contours of her facial features.

_If I were to but glance her way for only a moment in polite interest…_ He almost shook his head, _No._ She would see past the pretence of this action to the true intent and call him on it. She had done it before and it had presented a few awkward moments between the two of them. That was the last thing he needed right now. Should the mask make any inclination whatsoever he feared she might notice and their night together would fall apart at the seams.

So he tapped his finger. He saw the flit of her eyes as they turned toward that one digit, the shadow of her face falling on him as she turned her head. It was then that he stole a glance of her.

_Oh, God, he's looking at me._ Evey froze. She had been watching him from the corner of her eye ever since the moment she sat down. Furtive little glances that she afforded herself. The gloved hand that rested on his lap. The graceful shift of his thighs as he crossed and uncrossed his legs. But it wasn't until she heard the tapping of his finger, until he caught her off guard by that simple motion, that she looked directly at him.

And now he was looking back at her and it made her heart flip in her chest. Beat. She held his gaze. Beat. She swallowed that frog in her throat. Beat. Her eyes lowered from the dark slits that were his. Beat. She looked back to the telly. Breathe.

He smiled beneath.

She could see him still. See his gaze linger a moment longer and then return to the screen. He stopped tapping.

Moments passed. Minutes.

"V?"

"Evey?"

Silence.

"V, do you celebrate Christmas?"

She could hear the soft whistle of air passing through the lips of the mask. She looked at him again and watched his chest rise with the breath. "No."

Her brows furrowed, scrunching her nose. "You don't?"

V finally looked at her again, amused by her incredulous tone. "No, Evey. I do not."

Beat.

Both looked back to the screen.

Moments passed. Minutes.

"Why not?"

"Hmn?"

"Why don't you have Christmas?"

The mask tilted as he looked at her once more. "I cannot recall a time when I did celebrate the birth of Christ."

Evey nodded, feigning comprehension.

Beat.

She didn't advert her gaze this time, watching him openly.

Beat.

Minutes passed. "Are you… Jewish?"

"I'm sorry?"

A slight blush rose to her cheeks. Beat. "Are you Jewish?"

"Evey-"

"No, I just- Well, you know... You said you've never had Christmas. And, well Jews don't celebrate Christmas, right? I mean, it's okay if you are and that's why but… Are you?"

"No, Evey, I'm not." There was a touch of a laugh in his voice. He loved the way she rambled sometimes. Talked herself in circles.

No beat, just words.

"Then why not?"

Evey turned body now to face him, her hands clasped in her lap.

No answer.

Evey sighed and turned herself back to face forward, crossing her arms over her chest.

Then, to Evey's surprise, V began to slowly rise to his feet. She reached out to stop him, her pouting lip vanishing immediately. He paused, glanced down at her and then down at her hand on his arm. He stepped away, out of her reach, and took the remote from the table.

"V?"

The screen of the telly went blank as he turned it off.

"V… Why-"

"Neither of us are watching it anymore, Evey," he interrupted.

He placed the remote down on the table again and turned to leave. Evey was at her feet in a flash, following after him.

"Don't go."

He kept walking.

"V, please stay with me tonight. You promised, remember?"

At this he stopped, his back to her, his hands clenching at his sides. She reached out to touch him again, but his words took her breath away.

"I do not celebrate Christmas, Evey, because I have never had anyone to share it with." And then he was gone, seeming to disappear in thin air. She called out for him but there was no answer.


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

Evey turned the sprig of holly between her fingers. As usual, she was lounging around the Gallery, a book in hand, but she could not concentrate on it. She hadn't read a single page over the last week.

She hadn't seen V for a few days after their 'misunderstanding' and she didn't speak to him much after that either. Or rather, he hadn't spoken to her. Of course, he would offer her a good morning and good night at the beginning and ending of each day, comment carefully on the movies she watched and the book she had been attempting to read, but other than that, she hardly heard a peep.

As the week wore on, the gallery gradually brightened with shades of red and green. With each day that passed, Evey woke to more mysterious findings throughout the Gallery, spending much of her time, which was mostly spent alone now, seeking out new surprises. V seemed oblivious to the change, of course, but Evey was not lost on it. It warmed her that he was making an effort, for whom else could it be than he? She hadn't caught him in the action of decorating yet, but she knew it was him. And neither of them spoke about it either, as if they had silently agreed not to mention it.

From the subtle hints, like the holly and ivy draped about the rooms, to the more obvious, like the antique nativity scene in the sculpture gallery and the carols on the jukebox, it all tickled her and brought back memories of her childhood.

The most peculiar article to grace the tunneled walls of the Gallery had to be the mistletoe. What a strange thing for a terrorist to decorate his home with. When she first noticed it in the central hall, Evey felt her heart jump into her throat and a strange sort of emotion filled her. A tinge of hope?

She had been standing in the doorway, staring at it for a full three minutes before V stepped in beside her and followed her gaze with his own. Evey looked at him and he at her, and then he walked past her, stepping around the room, avoiding the shadow of the poisonous little leaf. She watched him closely for a few days and that hope was squashed. V avoided the path beneath the mistletoe like the plague. What did she expect?

In fact, after a few days, the festive décor began to lose its splendor, because that's all they were: decorations. The atmosphere that made Christmas so alluring simply wasn't there. And so she sat, sprawled out on the sofa, Pride and Prejudice lying open across her belly as she toyed with the holly. There were six days left until Christmas and to her dismay, Evey couldn't wait for it to be over with. _Maybe once the holiday passes V will return to me._

That's when it dawned on her. The atmosphere wasn't there because V wasn't there. Her holiday was empty because she was spending it alone. Every time she recalled a favored tale of her past Christmases, V was never around to hear. Whenever she wished to know the words of one of the Latin carols, he was missing from the Gallery. V's words from the week before hit her like a ton of bricks. She now knew that loss and felt it deeply.

-----

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen – Disclaimer applies


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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That was never V's intention, of course: to drag Evey down with his own sorrows. He had hoped to bring her a sense of comfort and joy. He wanted her to feel at home, despite the underlying truth that she was, in fact, his prisoner and not merely a resident or a guest. And it seemed that she appreciated his efforts. He would watch her from the shadows every morning, taking a peculiar sort of delight as she stumbled upon more and more of the little treasures he had stashed about.

As for his absence from the Gallery… Well, that had been quite intentional. He hid himself away from the main gallery altogether for the first two days after their 'encounter', staying instead in one of the secret rooms Evey had yet to discover. He couldn't face her. Plain and simple.

He felt fear for the first time in a long while. _He_, the masked vigilante who would, in little more than a year's time, bring England down to her knees. _He_, both the hellion and the saint amongst his own people, who would terrorize and bring salvation to them all. _He_, the lethal killer who could easily silence Evey Hammond forever with little more than a flick of the wrist. _He_ feared _her_; feared that her words and her pity might obliterate the already withering spirit left within him.

And so, he stayed away until he recovered his dignity and overcame his anxieties. He couldn't allow himself to become derailed by the mere presence of another. Oh, but how he had faltered that night. Not only had he been thrown off by Evey's risque ensemble but he had also lost all sense of equilibrium when she had touched him.

He had been about to walk away, to leave in a more befitting manor than simply disappearing, as was habit, when she reached out to stop him. To say that he had not been touched in the twenty years of his self-isolation was a lie. How many times in combat had he been struck by others? How many others had he struck down in return? Even whilst bringing Evey to the safety of the Shadow Gallery, he held her unconscious form in his arms. But this was different. This time, the touch was deliberate and gentle, even caring.

And it nearly knocked him off his feet. He felt as though he was made of glass and with any agitation, he would shatter before her. In that single moment, he lost all manner of control and fell to consternation. It rocked his world and that frightened him. In his twenty years of recollection, there was scarcely an instance in which his fear got the best of him. And as he hid away for those two days, he began to realize how ridiculous this was. He would not submit to his fear, would not surrender his final inch for something as small as a touch.

On the morn of the third day since their confrontation, he returned to her finally with a most definitive sense of absolution. He wouldn't let his control slip again or allow his guilt to hinder his own free will. He was the master of the Gallery and she was merely a young woman, of little to no consequence, living within it.

But when he saw her again, saw the sorrow in her eyes, he knew he was wrong. She was his one and only companion, a most important factor in his miserable little existence. And he had treated her with contempt and disrespect. In that moment of the most intimate touch he could ever remember and the interaction that ensued, V took on a tone and manner that he never wished for her to see. It was inexcusable, as was his disappearance after such a display. He gave her the most heartfelt apology, but he still felt it wasn't enough. He wanted more than to right his wrongdoings and he knew exactly how he would do it.

He went straight to the source. He 'borrowed' most of the supplies from the Ministry. Chancellor Sutler had ruled out all religion aside from Catholicism, thus the common pagan Christmas decorations were scarce. The music, books, and sculptures were easy to procure. Various other little things like the lights and ornaments, which he had yet to come by, were almost impossible to find, but he managed well elsewise. The holly and mistletoe were a challenge too, but V had his connections. A man could not grow an extensive garden of roses without the proper chemicals and fertilizers. And Evey was not the only person who sided with the proclaimed terrorist.

The mistletoe hadn't been his idea, or so he claimed. He actually had not thought on it much until he found that Evey took a particular interest in it. Now he cursed the little leaf every time he walked by. He wanted to take it down, but he knew she would notice. She noticed everything.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

It wasn't unlike any other morning. At least, not to begin with. V stood at attention before his stove, twirling a spatula between his gloved fingers with expert dexterity. He was running late today. The recipe book was open to page 24, a smear of batter concealing the words beneath. No matter, V knew this recipe well. He only needed the book now as a preparation reminder. He had forgotten, for instance, that the batter must sit for a time before it is cooked. He stared impatiently at the ticking timer.

He looked up, placing the spatula on the counter as Evey entered the room. "Good morning, Eve. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thanks." She stepped up beside him and looked down at the empty griddle and the covered bowl on the counter. "What are you making?"

The man beneath the mask smiled softly. "Breakfast muffins," he replied, appreciating the redundancy of the statement. "I had a small mishap with the batter," he explained. "So I had to prepare another batch. Now, we must wait for it to set before I can cook it. It may be a little while."

"Oh, that's fine." Evey insisted, though her rumbling tummy suggested otherwise. She smiled and moved to the counter. "Shall I make some tea?"

"I already have the kettle on." He turned his eyes to her, catching hers for a brief moment as he motioned to the back burner.

"Oh, alright." She said as she look up at him, a soft smile lighting her features.

Ding.

"Ahh, there we are," he said as he turned his attentions back to their breakfast, pouring a bit of batter into the griddle.

"Can I help?" She was standing next to him again, peering down at the little ring of batter.

"We're to wait but a few minutes, flip and wait again." He tried to avoid the disappointment in her eyes. This was the most interaction they'd had between them in a while. "But, if you would take out the raspberry jam from th-"

"We have some more jam?" She asked in an excited whisper as she moved toward the icebox.

He chuckled and gave a slight nod.

A few pleasant moments passed between them as V cooked two muffins and Evey sampled the preserves. He then placed a plate before her and poured her some tea. She watched him closely as he moved back to the stove and began to clean up. Lately, when he finished cooking for her, he would bid her a good day and disappear until lunch time and do the same again at dinner. Evey wouldn't have it this time. She was prepared.

"Christmas is coming up. In five days actually."

"It is," he agreed, his back to her. He had been dreading this conversation. Dreading the moment she would ask and tear him down with those eyes of hers. He wanted to flee, but he knew he had to face it. It was strange how only she could make him feel so helpless and weak, and consequently ashamed of himself for feeling so. In a way, she was his saving grace. But he couldn't keep running away from her. So he stayed.

"Well, er. What would you like?"

He turned around to face her, wiping his hands on his apron. "What would I like?"

"As a gift? I mean, I know I can't really go get you anything, but I should still do something for you. I mean, it's Christmas after all."

"A gift?"

"V, stop repeating everything I say."

He smiled at her annoyance. "You don't need to give me anything, Evey. Your company is all I require."

Evey's expression dropped suddenly, as if he had just smacked her across the face. "My company?"

"Now it is you that is repeating my words, Eve."

"Oh, shut up, will you?!" she all but shouted, her temperament turned sour. "You want _my_ company? Where in the hell have you been all this time then? I've been waiting for _your_ company to miraculously show up!"

Now, he felt it would be the appropriate time to leave before her temper triggered his own.

He gave an audible sigh and placed the griddle in the sink. He'd have to clean up later when she left for her room as he was sure she would do. He untied his apron and brought it up over his head, then he placed it on a hook next to the fridge and turned to make his leave.

"Am I being punished?" came her small voice.

He turned on his heel to look at her. He had no reply to give her and he doubted he could speak if he did. A few silent tears had streamed down her face in the few moments that had passed since her outburst. But she did not speak again. She merely waited, taking his silence as the affirmative.

"I am not sure what you mean," he said, finding and willing his voice at last. "What ever would I be punishing you for?"

"For last Thursday?" she replied without missing a beat, as if she had been expecting the question.

Silence ensued. What could he say to that? Yes, that he had been avoiding her because of their encounter the week before? But, then again, he was doing all this to try to make her happy, which he had obviously failed to do. There was no right answer. And a simple 'no' wouldn't do, so he gave her silence.

He turned his back to her once more, but before he could take another step, he heard her chair scraping across the floor. He turned in time to see Evey rise to her feet and take a step toward him, her hand outstretched to stop him. "No, please! Don't run out on me again."

"Stand still right where you are at," his voice boomed, echoing through the alcoves and tunnels of the Gallery. "Stay there or I _will_ leave."

She stopped in her tracks, inhaling sharply as a few more tears trickled down.

"Why are you doing this?"

_I'm sorry, Evey, but I cannot bear your touch again._ Words so true were words he could not say. "I'm not sure what you mean," he admonished, but as soon as his words were out, she had a reply.

"This!" she cried, motioning about her.

The mask lifted and turned about slowly as if he were noticing the decor for the first time. "I thought that it was what you wanted."

"What_ I_ wanted?" she repeated, her voice scarcely a whisper.

"Yes. To celebrate Christmas."

"What _I_ want is to celebrate Christmas _with you_!"

Silence once more and one more retreating step.

"Please, don't run away again!" Two steps closer, a hand reaching out. "Don't leave me here alone. Don't give me all these beautiful things but no one to share them with. Don't," she paused, taking a shaky breath as her voice trembled. "Don't give me false hopes and then disappear like it means nothing."

"I don't underst-"

"There is mistletoe in the hall!" she shouted at him, aggravation finally taking place of distress. A man as brilliant as he could be so irritatingly clueless at times. And though the grin of Guy Fawkes gave no indication as to the true expression beneath, V truly did look as though he were at a loss.

"False hopes?" he spoke slowly, ignorant of the two steps closer she advanced as he chewed over her choice of words.

"Do you know what mistletoe is for?" she asked gently, though unsuccessful at masking her annoyance.

He turned his eyes to hers, finally noticing the proximity between the two of them. "I do," he answered, a slow step backward.

She countered his retreat with another advance of her own. "Do you? Tell me."

"It is a traditional decorative piece associated with the celebration of Christmas." He pointedly avoided anything further on that description, but continued with another, "It is also used experimentally by herbalists to treat circ-"

"Are you ever going to show me your face?" She asked abruptly, a question which caught V completely off guard.

"What?"

"Your face, V. I've been here almost two months and this stupid costume you wear all the bloody time is the only thing I've ever seen of you."

"It's not a cost-"

"It _is_ a costume and it's ridiculous. You can't trust me enough to let me leave this retched, abysmal place, so can't you at least trust me with your face?"

"No."

She scoffed, gawking at him. "I'm not leaving! I'm not going to see anyone for almost a year! What does it matter?" No reply. "Are you going to keep it from me forever?"

"Yes."

A sob rose up from her throat as she turned to leave.

He merely stood there and watched her leave. "What you want I cannot give you."


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

Evey locked herself in her room, leaving the entire Gallery to V, an irregular occurrence these days. In fact, V could only recall a few times in which Evey had fled to the confines of her bedroom, mainly during the first few days of her stay. He had grown so accustomed to her company that it was almost like walking on foreign territory without her. In a way it was a blessing.

How long had it been since he could wander freely about the Gallery at his own leisure, to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased, without having to worry about bringing discomfort or displeasure to his guest? Well, nearly two months. A nice change of pace, indeed. So he spent the day appreciating his art, playing his piano and reading his favorite books, all activities that he used to enjoy daily, but hadn't done with any frequency for quite some time.

However, as the hours passed by, he began to realize that he had been wrong. Evey's absence was more a curse than a blessing. He had spent so much time on his own, so many years isolated from others, that he had never imagined he would take Evey's company for granted, or that he would ever wish for it to cease. _Is that what I've been doing? Avoiding her? Because I don't wish to see her?_

He couldn't deny it. He had been taking the same evasive measures that she was taking now. _She_ didn't want to see _him._ How could he have been so foolish? Yes, he often felt uncomfortable around her, but she had also been uncomfortable with him at one point. It was much better to have her company than not, however troubling it may be, and to know that he was the reason for her retreat made him truly feel the hurt of her words. He had separated himself from her in the past and now she was doing just that to him.

Despite his persistent requests, Evey kept herself locked away in her bedroom through lunchtime and most of the afternoon. When she did not come out for dinner, V lost his patience. Apron and all, V marched down the corridor to her room and tapped lightly on the door.

"Evey, won't you come out to eat?"

"No, thank you," came her small voice from within.

"I have a new dish I would like for you to try, Eve. Please come out."

A moment of silence and then, "No."

The man beneath the mask sighed audibly, "Very well then. I shall fix you a plate and put it in the icebox."

"Thank you," she replied quietly, her voice muffled into her pillow. He wasn't around to hear.

Evey awoke some time later, a distinct clench in her stomach reminding her that she hadn't eaten since breakfast. _What time is it? _she wondered. After a quick glance around, she remembered that there wasn't a clock in her room. She really needed to get one. _Perhaps I can convince V to drag that big grandfather clock of his in here, _she thought, their earlier disagreement forgotten in her drowsy state. She smiled as she rubbed her eyes. _But then again, it'll ring at odd hours of the morning. _

As she moved to stand up, her stomach gave a tremendous quake. It had been rumbling earlier that morning and she had only taken a few bites of her muffin. By now her tummy was on protest. _I could probably eat half the house… Er… Gallery._

She unlocked and opened her bedroom door, poking her head out. It was darker than usual, which meant it must be 'nighttime.' V always adjusted the lighting according to how it should have been if they were topside. When she first came here, she couldn't fathom why anyone would pay so much attention to something so inane. She understood now, or at least she pretended she understood. After all, V did some pretty unusual things.

She pushed her door open a little bit more and crept down the hall, startled momentarily by the light in the kitchen. _Is he still up?_ She tiptoed up to the grandfather clock in the hall near her door and squinted as she slowly interpreted the time. _Four in the morning. Good Lord, doesn't that man ever sleep?_

_Apparently not,_ she concluded as she crept closer, recognizing his silhouette immediately in the dim light of the kitchen. She loved these moments when she could sneak up on him and catch him off guard as he did to her so often.

Evey sneaked around the partition that separated the central alcoves of the Gallery and into the main hall. Past the statues and over to the jukebox where she ducked once more in the shadows. The kitchen was directly around the corner, a mere peek away, but as she inched closer, she heard a loud click right above her ear. She held her breath, praying she hadn't been found out, but a moment later, a song began to play on the jukebox. She hadn't even noticed that it was on. She took a deep breath and began to move toward the edge of the wall adjacent to the kitchen.

"Ah," came a soft sigh from his direction, followed by a chuckle. She heard him hum along to the song and heard the chair groan as he sat down. It was then that Evey took the opportunity to peer around the corner. There he sat at the kitchen table his back to her.

_What's he doing?_ she wondered, watching him carefully as he lifted something to his mouth. _Wait, his mouth? Oh my God! He's eating!_ She watched in amazement as he lifted a wineglass and took a drink. She could only see the back of him, of course, but she could still see every move he made.

A few minutes passed in which she simply watched him, taking pleasure in this, the simplest of things. She smiled as he again tilted the wine glass, but... Was he not drinking from it? "Evey?"

She jumped at the his words. She'd been found out. She thought about not replying and heading back to her room, but he obviously already knew she was there.

"Yes?" His form tensed suddenly when she spoke. He had doubted she was truly there at first, but now there was no mistaking her presence.

Always when Evey tried to surprise V, he would turn around at the very last moment and catch her, startling her instead, and warmly addressing her when he acknowledged her.

This time was different. This time his usually playful assault was premature. This time his form resonated a certain foreboding and uncomfortable air. And as Evey stepped toward him, she could see why. On the counter next to the bottle of wine, and well out of his reach, was the porcelain face of Guy Fawkes.

Evey's breath caught in her throat as she stopped in her tracks. What would he do? She'd never been in such a predicament with him.

"What is it you need, Evey?" came his voice again. And that voice... Hearing it without the inhibition of the mask was like hearing it for the first time. However, beneath those tones and intonations that she had come to love, Evey noted an undertone of annoyance.

"I, er… I'm hungry. I was going to-"

"Go back to bed, Evey, and I shall bring you a plate," V interrupted, his words clipped and anxious.

But Evey didn't budge. She didn't even breathe. Here was her chance to truly know him, to see the real V and he was telling her to leave? She couldn't have walked away even if she had wanted to.

"Evey?" he asked again, his voice gentler. He couldn't see her, but he was rather certain that her silence meant her resistance. Whether by sour feelings or sheer will power, he knew she would not be warded off so easily. "Please. You have caught me at my only weakness. I am sorry for being short with you, but will you please go back to your room? I will be with you momentarily."

"Your only weakness is wine?" she asked, her voice uneven. She knew that he was not referring to the vintage before him, but she wanted to hear more of his voice, wanted to delay her leave, wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to finally get to know the man behind the mask.

She could see him shaking his head and smiled at the quiet chuckle. "No, Eve. Not wine. Now, if you please."

"I want to see you," Evey sputtered out in a tiny voice, taking another step forward, reestablishing her earlier request. A long moment of silence passed between them. Perhaps he hadn't heard. She took another few paces toward him, stopping again only an arm's length behind him. "V, did you hear-"

"Yes, Evey. I heard you." His voice was soft, gentle. Reassuring but also uncertain. A tone she had never heard from him. She noted the tilt of his head as he glanced to the mask on the counter. "I must apologize, my dear, but the face you have come to know these last few weeks is the only face I have to offer to you."

Again, she stepped closer to him. "You can't hide from me forever, just as I can't from you." She put her hands on his shoulders. V flinched, unable to suppress a quiet grunt, as though he were restraining a certain reflexive movement. His fight or flight impulses were always at odds when it came to her. He could do nothing now. She had him cornered and there was no escaping without a little sacrifice. So, fighting the urge to knock her back or make a mad dash for the counter, he endured, trying to swallow down that lump that rose from his chest and restricted his breathing.

Evey had recoiled, removing her hands at once, afraid he might strike her, but after he visibly relaxed, she put her hands on his shoulders once more. "Please, V. Can I see you?"

"No, Evey. I'm sorry." His words were strong, determined, but also hinted at a sort of inner sadness.

Evey squeezed his shoulders beneath her fingertips. His shoulders were harder than stone, whether from muscle or tension, Evey couldn't tell. She kneaded the knots for a few moments, but her hands tired quickly. She had never felt shoulders as stiff as these before. It was as though he hadn't had a good shoulder rub for years, but for what she knew of V, that didn't surprise her. As the moments passed, however, the tension seemed to wear away and V began to relax beneath her touch.

"V… Can I see you?" She asked again after an exchanged few minutes of silence, hoping he would have changed his mind.

"Evey, please," he nearly begged. Is this the price he would pay for leaving her alone this last week?

"Can I touch you?"

"You are touching me now, Dear," he replied breathlessly.

"Can I touch your skin?"

Again, silence between them and she began to wonder once more if he hadn't heard. As she opened her mouth to ask again, he cut her off. "I think," he began, his words slow and measured, "that I would prefer it if you didn't."

Evey smiled. His words were wrought with such uncertainty. Such beautiful, promising uncertainty. "I think," she began, lowering her voice, "that you would like it if I did." Her fingertips inched their way across the breadth of his shoulders, sliding gently up the nape of his neck, searching beneath his wig to find the hem of the collar of his shirt. She bit her lip as she felt the stitching of the hem and then smooth, warm skin.

Rough, scarred hands gripped hers quite suddenly, tearing them from his neck, eliciting a frightened gasp from her. Evey hadn't realized that V wasn't wearing his gloves until he touched her, and by the look of it, he had forgotten as well. He was absolutely still, his hands painfully clutching hers. Both were holding their breath.

Evey hesitated a moment but then turned her hands around in his to hold them instead. V gasped, his empty palms closing into tight fists as he tried to pull them away from her grasp. But she didn't let him go, her long, slender fingers squeezed his, coaxing them to relax, just as they had coaxed his shoulders. The tables were turned as she deliberately touch the angry, mottled flesh of his hands, their fingers twining together as his grip relented.

_Is she repulsed? I cannot see her face._ Again his breath caught in his throat as he felt her step closer to him, so close that he could smell her, hear her heart as she pressed herself against the back of his chair.

V sat up very straight, trying to pull away from her, but Evey kept a firm grip on those hands. He couldn't escape. With every inch that he moved forward, his arms were pulled farther behind his head in a most uncomfortable position. With a sigh, he finally gave in and sat back in the chair. He had already resigned to this fate. He couldn't escape. Not without exposing himself or hurting her.

She caressed his hands with a tender touch, taking into account every bump and curve, tickling the patch of unblemished flesh on the inside of his right wrist. He held his hands still as she tried to pull them closer to her own face. She gave a reassuring squeeze and a slight tug, a soft hum sounding from her when he complied. He stirred uncomfortably in his chair, anticipating the worst.

V couldn't suppress the soft moan that escaped him as the unmistakable warmth of her lips pressed to the marred flesh of his knuckles. His heart nearly stopped. And what a fate. He sighed, closing his eyes tight, allowing her to take control as he finally indulged in the simple pleasure of touch. It was too late to resist.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes, pulling their hands from her face and down to his shoulders again, where, to her surprise, he held them for a moment. He felt so very weak beneath her touch, but at the same time, he wouldn't have wished for anything else.

"I'm going to go back to bed, V." He said nothing, couldn't; just silently begged her to stay, to keep those hands right where they were. Funny how, days ago, he wanted never to be touched by her, and now he was torn between want and fear. Finally he gave a slight nod and let her hands go.

"I will, er… I will bring you a plate."

Evey smiled, giving his shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before she walked away. "Thanks."

He sat for a long moment, refusing to move until he was absolutely sure she was out of sight. "Oh, my God," he whispered to himself, staring at the mangled, torn flesh that constituted his hands. Her hands had touched there. Her _lips_ had touched here. He choked back a sob as he covered his mouth with a fist.

It was several minutes before he composed himself and stood to walk to the counter to collect his gloves and mask. He put the wine away and brought the dinnerware from the fridge, preparing her the dish he had promised. He could barely hold it, his hands shook so badly.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

For Victoria, for without whose insistence, I might never have tried corned beef brisket. Yum!

-----

Evey sat patiently in her bed, slouching against the backboard, awaiting her host. She rubbed her hands, the hands that had touched his, that had touched _him_. What a silly game Fate played. All this pain and conflict, separation between them, all for what? For a touch? She bit her lip, the corners of her lips turning up in a secret smile. It had been worth it.

She looked up as she heard a knock on the door. "Yes? Come in," she called as she sat up and crossed her legs. She turned on the lamp at her bedside and looked up as V stepped in slowly, a deft hand supporting the tray as he pushed the door open.

She wasn't surprised to find Guy Fawkes grinning down at her, but she was slightly disappointed when she noticed that the careful fingers that cleared a space on her nightstand were clad once more in black leather. What had she expected? That he would come to her and reveal himself at last? She had certainly hoped so, but it turned out to be nothing more than wishful thinking.

V set the tray down, careful not to spill or drop anything, using this distraction as an excuse not to look at her. He had yet to see her face, see her true reaction to what had just transpired between the two of them. Would she be disgusted, as he feared? Would he find terror in her eyes? Or pity? He was too afraid to look. He took a slight step back as Evey moved her legs over the side to sit up and then turned away to leave.

She caught his wrist before he could make his escape. "Stay, won't you?"

Then, finally, he met her eyes with his own, or at least with the dark slivers that compensated for those hidden beneath. He looked down at his wrist, at his clenched fist, and her determined hold on him.

"Please?"

"Alright," he said quietly. He had no more breath to hold. "I will be right back."

"Where--"

"I am going to go fetch a chair." And with her permissive nod, he left the room momentarily, pausing in the hall to regain his composure once more. Again. She had touched him _again_, and if Irony and Circumstance weren't dear friends of his, he'd be a fool to think she wouldn't do it as often as she could manage from now on.

V returned minutes later with a chair from the kitchen. Already Evey was devouring her meal, forkful after forkful, eating as though she hadn't in weeks. She looked up at him as he entered, pausing, her mouth full of mashed potatoes.

"Slow down, Evey. No need to gorge yourself. It won't do to have you choking on such a fine meal when there is plenty more in the kitchen." He set the chair near the bed, and sat down in it, well out of her reach, lest she try and throw him for a loop again. He watched her for a few moments, pleased to see her take the time to actually chew her food, rather than inhale it. "Do you like it?"

Evey looked up at him again, a brow perking as she looked back down at her plate, poking at the yet untouched bit of her meal. "What is it?"

"It is corned beef brisket," he replied simply, watching her as she lifted a portion of the meat on her fork to look at it.

She frowned gravely, glancing at him. "Is it cooked thoroughly? It's red... You know I can't stand meat that's not cooked all the way."

V chuckled, "I know, Evey. Please, try some. Please," he added again as she glared at the meat in repulsion.

Cautiously, reluctantly, Evey nibbled at the cut, then placed the entire piece in her mouth. Her eyes widened suddenly, just as V had anticipated and she sighed with delight. "It's delicious!"

He chuckled, folding his hands on his lap. "I'm glad you like it. The man who can dominate a London dinner table can dominate the world," he quoted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Mmn, indeed. Is there more?" She asked after shoving a much larger piece in her mouth.

"Please, Eve, swallow first before you speak." She rolled her eyes and scooped up more with her fork. "Finish that plate first and if you are still hungry, I will get you some more."

She nodded and turned her attention over to her meal once more. He simply sat and watched her eat, as he always did, enjoying the little noises of contentment that she made with each bite she took. "Can you make this again?"

"If you would like." _And if I can find it,_ he thought. It was a hard cut to find anymore. Sutler was sure to demand more when his cook failed to serve it, however.

Another few moments of silence passed while Evey ate and V observed. "What would you like for Christmas, Evey?" he asked finally.

She stopped chewing and looked up at him, setting her fork down on her plate. She looked down for a moment and finished chewing her mouthful, looking up once more as she swallowed. "What do _I_ want?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to spend time with me?"

A moment's pause, "Yes." He was rewarded with a smile.

"I would like," she began slowly, "to see-"

"Evey," he protested at once, irritation growing.

"Your eyes."

"My eyes?" he asked, surprise evident in his words.

"Yeah... Can I see them?"

The man sat stock still in the chair.

"V?"

"My eyes?" he asked again. He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the concept.

"Will you quit?" she complained. "Yes, your eyes!"

"Why my eyes, Evey?"

"Well, eyes are the windows to the soul, right? Er... Something like that?"

"Mmn, so what you're really asking for is my soul."

She smiled when she heard him chuckling lightly.

She looked down and took another bite and swallowed. "I've missed this," she said quietly.

"I'm sorry?"

She looked over at him again. "Being able to just sit and talk with you. It's been a while."

"Mmn..." he nodded in agreement but said no more, turning his gaze down to the rug on the floor.

She finished her plate and as she placed her fork down, V stood. "Would you care for some more?"

"No, thank you. It's quite filling."

The mask nodded as V stepped forward to take the tray. "Will you be going back to sleep then?"

"Yes, I think so," she replied, sliding her legs back beneath the blanket.

V nodded again as he reached out to he turn her lamp off. "I'll get the chair in the morning then. Good night, Eve." He stepped toward the door, stopping when she called out his name.

"V?"

"Evey?"

"I would like to see your eyes... What color are they?"

"Good night, Evey."

"V?"

"Yes?"

"How about a clock?"

"A clock?"

"Good night."

He chuckled. "Sweet dreams, Eve."

And middle ground was found at last.

-----

'The man who can dominate a London dinner-table can dominate the world.' Oscar Wilde

'Eyes are the windows to the soul.' Karsh of Ottawa


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

Evey slept late that day, slept long and hard. She didn't wake when V returned a few hours later to retrieve the chair he had left the night before, nor when he returned an hour later to tidy up her room. He even put forth an effort to fumble about loudly as he gathered her laundry and brought in her freshly laundered clothes. She merely stirred a bit and then drifted back off to sleep.

He didn't think much of it at first, but when she passed up breakfast and dinner for sleep, he began to worry. He had assumed that their encounter the night before had resolved their recent discord. Perhaps he was wrong and there was another altercation to be had. He certainly hoped not.

However, when Evey finally emerged from her bedroom, it was with a groggy smile and a yawn that she entered the kitchen where V had been spending most of his afternoon. She sat down at the table and looked up at him expectantly, blissfully rested and rightfully hungry.

"We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning."

"So it is still morning?" Evey asked innocently, as she watched V prepare her a plate.

"No, it is not," he answered simply, placing the plate before her. "Would you care for the last of the brisket?"

"Of course!" Evey affirmed, grabbing her fork and diving in.

"I assume you slept well then?"

She nodded, shoveling another forkful into her mouth after swallowing the first. "Very well," she assured him after swallowing again.

"I had begun to wonder if I would be without your company again today." He poured her a cup of tea and turned to put the dishes in the wash bin.

"That we'd have a relapse of last yesterday?"

The mask turned as though to glance at her over his shoulder. "Mmn… Something of the sort." He turned fully to look at her, wiping his gloved hands on the towel below the sink. He would have to wait for her to finish in order to wash the dishes. He would have to wait for her to leave the room so he could take off his gloves and roll up his sleeves.

Evey shook her head, swallowing her mouthful with a sip of tea. "No, I just haven't had much restful sleep. At least not until this morning." Evey smiled sheepishly, sensing a similar smile beneath that mask.

"So," Evey began over a nearly clean plate and a few minutes of silence, "What are your plans for today?"

The mask tilted slightly, "I hadn't thought much past getting you out of bed and feeding you. I have got a few pies in the oven but-"

"You made pie?" Evey asked excitedly, her mouth full of potatoes. She frowned as she recognized the disappointed tilt of that mask. He hated it when she spoke with food in her mouth. She swallowed before continuing. "Sorry, but I'm getting better about it. I just love your pies."

V chuckled. "Apologetic flattery? You're forgiven." A pinkish hue rose to Evey's cheeks and her laughter joined his.

"What kind of pies did you make?"

"Gooseberry."

Evey's face fell slightly, but she quickly recovered with a false smile. "Oh."

"Oh? You don't like gooseberry pie?"

She chewed slowly on her last bite of brisket, carefully considering her words. "I rather like your raspberry pie," she insisted.

"Have you tried my gooseberry pie?"

Evey smirked. Of course she hadn't, he'd never made it for her. "No."

"Mmn, prejudice is an opinion without judgment."

Evey simply shook her head, smiling softly.

"Would you like for me to make you a raspberry pie?"

"Mmn, yes! Absolutely! May I help?"

"Of course you can," he replied as he crossed the kitchen to the pantry. He opened the door and peered inside. "Hmn, but it appears we are running low on flour… And sugar. Perhaps tomorrow? I'll have to make a visit to Mrs. Jones' bakery tonight," he added as a side note. "I should have enough raspberries for a pie or two."

"Two!" Evey proclaimed as she stood to put her plate in the sink. She walked over to him and peered in the pantry.

V stepped aside and around her to the sink. "I'm going to wash the dishes now, my dear. If you please?"

Even nodded and closed the pantry doors and left him to his work.

V joined Evey in the telly room about an hour later. He had set out his collection of Christmas related films and Evey was fishing through them now. "What's this one about?" she asked, holding one up as he entered the room.

V took the DVD case from her and inspected it with a smile. "It is about a grouchy green creature who despises Christmas and is determined to make the holiday miserable for everyone in Whoville."

"Will you watch it with me?"

"I'd be delighted."

-----

'We sleep, but the loom of life never stops, and the pattern which was weaving when the sun went down is weaving when it comes up in the morning.' Henry Ward Breecher

'Prejudice is an opinion without judgment.' Voltaire

'How the Grinch Stole Christmas' by Dr. Seuss - Disclaimer applies


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

WARNING: A bit graphic. We have a look at my interpretation of V's injuries.

-----

Evey didn't remember going to bed that night. She remembered sitting down to watch an animated film, which she vaguely recalled seeing once before when she was a child. She remembered V's quiet chuckle. She remembered being comfortable and warm, very warm. She didn't remember going to bed.

V remembered everything. He remembered Evey's eyes drooping closed on a few occasions and her body losing its will to stay upright. He remembered Evey's silent request for a blanket by way of rubbing her arms, and how she had stretched out on the couch by the time he returned, throw in hand. He remembered covering her and then kneeling next to her.

"Shall I take you to bed, Eve?" he remembered whispering to her. He chuckled softly when she protested with a groan and swatted his hand away from her shoulder.

He remembered trying in vain to find a way to sit comfortably on the couch, dodging her flailing legs as he tried to move them. He remembered turning the TV off and then lifting her up into his arms, disregarding her earlier insistence that she be left where she lay, and carried her to her room. Rarely did Evey make her bed, so it was not a difficult task to tuck her in. The moment he laid her down, she turned on her side and settled into her sheets.

"Good night, Eve." V _did_ remember Evey going to bed.

However, the night was far from over for him. After tidying the telly room and kitchen a bit, he moved to his dressing room to change. He first selected a doublet, shirt, and trousers, then hesitated as he sat at the vanity. _I had better check on Evey. I don't want her sneaking up on me again. _He returned to her room and poked his head inside the crack of her door. She hadn't moved since he had laid her down. "Very good," he muttered to himself and then returned to his dressing room.

He sat down again, removed his mask and looked at himself in the mirror. Evey wanted to see his eyes, and despite his inner turmoil, he wanted her to see them too. However, he couldn't reason how he would let her without risking the exposure of the rest of his face. He had a few ideas but he put none of them down in concrete. However, there was one thing he was sure of: Evey would _not_ see this monstrosity of a face. He no longer troubled _himself_ with the remorse that had once accompanied a glance in the mirror. He could never again recover what was lost so there was no use in mourning it. But he shuddered to think of how much Evey's reaction to his appearance would affect him. After all, in the early days, it had hurt him immensely when perfect strangers would stare at him in disgust. Evey's own repulsion would crush his heart, what little of it was left.

Compared to some of the rest of his body, his face had sustained less damage and remained rather intact. Nevertheless, it wasn't pretty. The skin was tight and smooth, looking more for that matter like muscle than skin, marred by fire and virus. His nose was crooked, broken several times in combat, though long and pointed. His ears didn't fare as well, but they still served their purpose and retained most of their shape. It was hard to say how he had kept any of his teeth all these years, much less a straight, clean smile, but he never saw the likes of his own smile much anymore, only that of Guy Fawkes. His eyes were, by far, his best feature: a deep ocean blue with an occasional fleck of gold. What a shame that they should hide behind the face of another man.

It could have been worse, he remembered telling himself, as he looked through various medical dictionaries and photo journals of victims similar to himself with no face to speak of. At the time, he had expected the explosion to kill him, yet he couldn't help but recoil as the combustion began, moving to protect himself as best he could. His back and hands received the most damage, as well as his legs and lower thighs. There were patches of near perfect skin in a few places, such as his armpits and the insides of his thighs, the top of his head where an annoying bit of hair sprouted, and just under his jaw.

It had taken him years to heal and he was still sore at times, but he didn't complain much. He had been confined to bed in the much earlier years. It was there that his treasonous plan was born, but also where he found his love of literature. He thought he must have been rather studious in the life before the reclamation, for he found himself recognizing some of the material he read. Upon reading a poem by Alfred Tennyson, he was inspired to find and 'reclaim' the famous painting of the Lady of Shalott. From there his hunger for knowledge, literature and art grew, as did his gallery, to become what it now was.

V remembered that art and literature had played a part in what kept him alive all these years, and that it had, at times, given him just enough motivation to keep himself going. He wished to bring this beauty back to the world, first by destroying the fascist government and simultaneously exacting his revenge. He remembered and sighed. Freedom, art and violent retribution were all he had to give to the world, and sharing that beauty with Evey thus far had been pure bliss. But the rest of it? He averted his eyes from his own reflection, "I can give you my books, my art, my knowledge… My entire gallery, Evey, but I cannot give you my face. My eyes? Hmn." He sat for a moment considering his options and then shook his head. "By asking for the impossible," another sigh, "We obtain the possible. I shall try, Eve. I shall try."

Now done with remembering, V opened a drawer at his side and took out the steal, indestructible visage of Guy Fawkes.

-----

The Lady of Shalott by Alfred Tennyson - Disclaimer applies

The Lady of Shalott (Painting) by John William Waterhouse - Disclaimer applies

'By asking for the impossible, we obtain the possible.' Italian Proverb


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

WARNING: Again, a bit graphic.

-----

V stood in the kitchen, humming softly to himself as he turned the bacon over in the skillet, contemplating what he might fix for Evey's meal on the twenty-fifth. He only had three days left and a great deal of planning lay ahead of him.

He heard the pitter patter of bare feet and anticipated the gasp that followed. V smiled. _She was sure to find it. _And found it, she had. There was never a question of 'when' or 'if,' for who could miss the giant evergreen in the place of the pianoforte in the main hall. The smell of pine needles was intoxicating as Evey stepped closer to admire the mighty fir tree that took up nearly all the space in the room.

Her eyes welled with tears. The last time that she could remember having a tree, why, it had been the last Christmas she had spent with her family. The last Christmas before everything changed.

She heard the soft shuffle of boots and leather, announcing V's arrival. She reached up to wipe her eyes before turning to look at him, giving him a weak smile, which quickly progressed to a grin and a giggle. "Morning. Nice apron."

"Thank you," he replied appreciatively as he stepped toward her. It had an adorable drawing of a not-so-jolly Father Christmas frowning at a plate of burnt cookies.

"Is something the matter," he asked her softly, retrieving a handkerchief from his pocket to hand to her.

She took it and dabbed her eyes. "No, it's just-- It's been a very long time since I have had a Christmas tree. I've had a lot of fond memories, as well as some terrible ones."

"I'm sorry." Both were shocked when V placed a large gloved hand on her shoulder. It was done without thought, as though it were an instinct, though affection, no matter how small, had never been an instinct that V could claim to have had before… _Before her._

"I was hoping that you would like it," he added breathlessly a moment later, his heart skipping a beat as she turned to face him, inching closer.

"I do," she smiled sadly, placing her hand over the one on her shoulder. "It's beautiful." Another tear trickled down her cheek and she was quick to catch it. He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze and she knew he was smiling back at her.

"Care to share any of those better memories over breakfast?" he inquired politely, slowly directing her toward the kitchen. She nodded and followed silently.

Evey ate and told of the first Christmas she could remember between gulps. V sat with her, his attention undivided as he drank in every word.

By the time Evey had finished eating, more memories had be shared, both had laughed and one had shed more tears. However, when Evey turned the tables on him, he had nothing to offer her.

"I told you before, Eve, I cannot recall ever celebrating Christmas."

"Oh, right," and that was all she said on the topic. She knew it was a sensitive subject, as it had put a bit of a hindrance in their relationship as of late.

"Do we have any decorations to put on the tree?" she asked, changing the subject almost as quickly as she had brought it on.

"Hmn, no conventional decorations, I'm afraid. Norsefire all but wiped out any trace of the pagan tradition. Most tree ornaments were made of glass, or were highly flammable. I'll admit it was a bit of a struggle to come across the decorations that we have already. We could use some of those or make some of our own if you would like."

"You mean like popcorn streamers?" she asked, a playful note she had mentioned as she reminisced.

"If you would like," he repeated with a chuckle. "However, I will have to turn in earlier than usual tonight. I have quite a bit of work to do."

Evey nodded, stood to put her plate in the sink and began to walk away. "I'm gonna shower."

The mask dipped in silent consent and then turned away to inspect the dirty dishes in the sink.

Evey was delighted when she came out of her bedroom to find V sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, freshly dressed, bootless, and surrounded by three large bowls of popped corn, a small wooden box by his knee.

She enjoyed how relaxed he seemed as he opened the box at his side, which turned out to be a small sewing kit. They were growing more comfortable, that was for certain. Or, rather, he was becoming more comfortable with her. She could only think of one other time that she had seen him take his boots off and that had been when she had first arrived. She couldn't think of the reason why now, but she remembered how odd V's socks had been, just as they were now. They had been gray and looked very tight, but looked almost like silk or velvet. She had never asked, but she had wondered if he always wore the same type of clothing for a reason.

The mask tilted up in acknowledgment as she finally entered the room, his hands ceasing their movement. She could nearly feel him smiling at her, a gesture which was returned in full.

She moved to sit with him, noting a peculiar scent as she sat. _Is that… cologne?_ she wondered. "V, did you just take a shower?"

"I did," he replied simply, carefully handing a long piece of thread and a needle to her. "I'm afraid I cannot grasp the needles very well with my gloves on, Eve, so I think I'll leave this task to you and… Bring you a cup of tea?"

Evey pouted but then nodded in assent. She watched him carefully as he rose to his feet and then turned his back to her. Evey gasped at the sight. "V! You're bleeding!"

His stride faltered a moment and she heard him mutter something like, "Again?" He turned as though to look over his shoulder, though his range of vision would never allow it. He wrapped his arm around to touch the blood soaked shirt, looking down at his gloved fingers when he brought them back around.

"Are you hurt?"

"'Tis but a scratch," he remarked, turning his wounded shoulder away from her and wiping his fingers absently on his sleeve. "It may be a few minutes before I can bring you the tea."

However, as he turned to make his leave again, Evey was at his heels. "What happened? It's no scratch, your shoulder is covered with blood." She reached out to touch the unharmed shoulder, so as to stop him, but he cringed the moment he felt her hand and she recoiled immediately. "I'm sorry."

"No, no it's alright, Eve. It's merely a scratch, a scrape, if you will," he said as he turned toward her once more. "It was harder to haul a tree in here than I had expected."

The color drained from Evey's face as she realized that he had been hurt on her account. A tear trickled down her cheek but he was quick to console her. "Hush, Evey, I promise you it is nothing critical."

With the slightest touch, he lifted her chin to look at him, and his breath caught in his throat. Those large almond eyes, filled with tears as they were, nearly broke his heart. _She is beautiful even as she cries for me,_ he thought, a concept he had always assumed he would despise. However, this was not pity in her eyes, but general loving concern.

"I believe my handkerchief is still in your possession, my dear, and my sleeve is bloodied, so I will not have these tears."

Evey sighed and, before he could excuse himself again, she had her arms around his waist, her ear pressed to his chest. She could hear his heart pounding and his breath catch, then release in a ragged sigh. "I don't want you to go out tonight," she nearly sobbed. "I don't want you to get hurt again."

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest and his arms closed around her carefully. "I am not going out tonight, Eve." He gave a hearty laugh when her head snapped up to eye him suspiciously. "I have matters to attend to here in the Gallery."

"Promise?"

"I do," and with that, he let her go, politely taking a step away. "I will return in a moment with your tea."

"Alright," she said, wiping her cheeks and the small spot where her tears had collected on his vest. Again, his chest rose as he gasped soundlessly, his hand grasping hers suddenly, pulling it away.

"The shirt is already ruined, Evey," he said after a moment, an edge to his words that threatened multitudes.

As her face fell, he realized his mistake and she was in his arms once more, nearly crushed against his chest. "Forgive me," he whispered gingerly, a gloved hand rubbing her back gently.

"I have never meant to take that sort of tone with you," he was speaking for the past few weeks as well as for now when he had raised his voice to her on a few occasions. "You have a way of catching me off guard sometimes," he told her truthfully, pulling away just enough to look at her. "Come, let's have some pie and tea."

Her face brightened immediately, though she buried it again into his chest. He was so warm and so… firm. She squeezed him tightly against her and then let him go.

As he turned once more to lead her to the kitchen, she was reminded of her reason for stopping him in the first place. "You are still bleeding, V."

"Yes, I will attend to that first. Will you put the kettle on?"

They parted ways, Evey to the kitchen, V to his room. Whether he was dizzy from emotional shock or blood loss, he didn't know. Whether she was elated by his affections or the improved spirit of their relations, she couldn't say.

In his room, V removed his vest and shirt, tossing them aside as he stepped into his private bath. It was more than a scratch, more than a scrape, but a deep laceration that had bled through its dressings. He peeled the gauze off and turned to look at his back in the mirror. He had been caught by one of his own booby-traps on his way back the night before, concerned more with carrying the tree than regarding his own safety.

In the kitchen, Evey was filling the kettle with water, when she noticed the smudged blood on her fingertips. She merely picked up a hand towel and wiped it off, then went about the business of making tea.

V emerged some fifteen minutes later, dressed now in a loose sleeved shirt along with a more form fitting vest for the sake of compression. He stood in the doorway of the kitchen watching as Evey took down two plates from the cupboard. "I don't need a plate, Eve. I will have my pie later."

She jumped when she heard him speak, a plate falling from her grasp. She gasped a second time as he appeared behind her in an instant, catching the plate before it crashed to the floor. He reached around her and put it back in the cupboard and let out a long, slow breath.

"Evey?" He asked suddenly as he took the bloodied hand towel from the counter. "Are you hurt?"

Evey smiled softly at the general sincerity and worry in his voice. "No, I just got a little bit of your blood on my hands."

"_What_?" he practically roared in her ear. "Wash your hands, Evey. _Now!_"

She looked over her shoulder at him, frowning as he took a step away as though he was disgusted.

However, once she moved to the sink, he was behind her once more, so close that she swore she could feel his heart pounding, his ragged breath in her ear.

"Soap, use the soap," he muttered quickly, almost frantically. She took the dish soap and put it on her hands. "Scrub, Evey, scrub!"

"Wh-"

"_Just do it!_" he growled.

She made no further protest, doing as she was told. At the growl behind her back, she scrubbed harder, whimpering softly when V pressed his body to hers, trapping her against the sink. The distinct sound of leather hitting stone reached her ears but she knew better than to look. She could scarcely think, too frightened to even breathe. And then, to her surprise, two naked hands and arms were around hers, taking over for her. He had removed his gloves and rolled his sleeves up.

V's grip on her hands was rough, controlling as he scoured her hands, wiped viciously beneath her fingernails, at which point she realized… He had none. She hadn't been able to tell two days ago when she held his hands in hers. It simply wasn't significant enough to notice at the time. But now, in the full light of the room, she could see that he had none. Her eyes scaled his arms as he rinsed their hands together, grabbing a new towel to dry them with.

He stepped away as they finished, took both towels and put them in the garbage. She turned to look at him as he let out a fierce cry and punched the wall, leaving a considerable dent, even in the stone, a cloud of dust surrounding him as he fell against it, hiding his face.

"V… I'm sorry," Evey said as she approached him, putting her hand on his forearm.

She heard him utter a harsh grunt as he yanked his arm away from her grasp and himself away from the wall. "Do not touch me, Evey," he snarled in warning, his back to her.

She had never seen him act in such a way. She had seen him dispose of three fingermen in the alleyway on the night they had met, but that in itself was not violent. It was more like a dance. This… _This_ was violent, and it terrified her.

"V… Wh-what did I do?" she asked, stepping away, placing the table between the two of them lest he lash out again.

He turned to look at her, his chest heaving as he gasped for air. "You must tell me if you _ever_ come in contact with my blood again, Evey."

She nodded, a tear trickling down her cheek. She knew she wouldn't, knew she couldn't. Not if it invoked a reaction like this. She would never tell him anything again.

His posture straightened as he regained composure. He walked toward her slowly, and she quickly backed away, again putting the table between them. His shoulders slumped and his mask dipped low as he realized just how much his minute rampage had upset her.

"I'm sorry, Eve. I just… Don't know what I would do if..." He looked up at her, frowning beneath the grin of Guy Fawkes. "I have the Saint Mary's virus in my blood, Evey. I've had it for nineteen years and I have no doubt that it has mutated into a much more complicated, dangerous disease. I- I don't think I could live with myself if you contracted it." _Or any other of the diseases I have…_

"My God," she gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

"That Bastard has never graced this darkness," he muttered.

_No wonder he erupted in such a fit,_ Evey reasoned, as she slowly began to approach him. She felt a great swell of gratitude for this man's odd but careful consideration. She would never have guessed, and, though her mind was swarming with questions, she kept her mouth shut.

And V was grateful that she did. He didn't know if he could handle her curiosity, the pity in her eyes, the doubt and the fear that had plagued him for nearly twenty years. He didn't know what vile poison streamed through his blood. Didn't know what it could do to her or what it could be doing to him, for that matter. The Saint Mary's virus wasn't even half the problem. Saint Mary's was still treatable. It was merely the easiest answer he could supply without delving into the terror and agony that he had endured in the past. How could he tell her he was a government guinea pig and that the implications of the torturous experiments were even beyond his knowledge? That Death could sweep over her with the mere exposure of his blood? No, Saint Mary's wasn't the problem at all. He wasn't even sure. He had never really considered it before. He made a mental note to find out just how dangerous he was to her.

He cringed at the implication of conducting his own experiment, his body quaking in response. He slouched against the sink, staring absently at his feet, scarcely noticing Evey's steady, albeit careful advance. He flinched as she reached out to touch him, her fingers on his naked arm. _Such a beautiful monstrosity,_ he thought as he compared her skin to his, though he made no move to cover himself again. What did it matter anymore? She already knew he was a horror.

"Did I hurt you?" he whispered, his words almost inaudible.

"No," she replied with equal caution, taking his hand in hers. "Just scared me a little. Will you hold me?" she asked, looking up into the empty blackness of his eyes.

She watched in amazement as he slowly lifted his hand from hers and brought it to cup her cheek, his other arm moving around her waist, pulling her tightly against him. "I am sorry, Love."

_What did he just call me?_ She looked up into the eye slits in the mask again. It wasn't an irregular thing to say, but coming from this man, it was like a foreign tongue.

He brushed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the lone tear, gently pulling her head to rest against his chest. "If I ever do hurt you, Evey, please know that it is not intentionally done. I-"

"Shh. I know, V. I know."


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

To Evey's surprise, the rest of the afternoon went fairly well. After a little prodding and excessive reassurance that she wasn't bothered, V and Evey sat down together to finish what they had started, V's gloves forgotten on the kitchen counter.

In little more than an hour's time they had completed two long streamers of popcorn and had moved on to other projects. Evey had suggested making a chain of paper, but V didn't have adequate supplies. Although the suggestion that a masked revolutionary would have a mass supply of colored construction paper seemed a silly notion, V never failed to surprise her.

With that in mind, Evey tried not to put too much consideration into how odd was his next bizarre suggestion. V admitted and revealed that he had an obscenely large amount of fabric scraps with which, he reasoned, they could construct a sort of quilted garland. Evey couldn't imagine why V would need green fabric with orange polka dots, but she didn't ask as she watched him stitch each piece together with unbelievable speed and accuracy.

By five in the evening, the naked fir was dressed in long streams of popcorn and bright, haphazard garlands that gave the evergreen its own sense of enchantment.

"I must bid you good night," V told her as they began to gather the wasted materials.

"But it's not even that late, V."

"Yes, but I have a few important matters at hand that I must devote some time to. If you wish for me to spend the holiday with you, then I need this time, my dear," he told her gently as he stepped into the kitchen, tossing the leftover scraps into the trash bin.

Evey followed, placing the empty popcorn bowls in the sink. "What are you doing?"

He turned to face her, a casual semblance present in the way he leaned against the counter, his arms crossed over his chest. "It's a surprise."

Evey pouted as she drew closer to him, her lower lip trembling playfully. "Come on, tell me."

The grin on the inside matched that on the outside. "Would you be so kind as to hand me the gloves on the counter behind you, Eve?"

She turned and snatched them quickly from the counter, hiding them behind her back. "Tell me!"

He held his hand out expectantly. "I apologize, but I am not at liberty to disclose such information."

She brought the gloves around front and placed them in his hand. However, as he closed his fingers around them, he quickly found himself in a battle of tug-o'-war.

"The longer you deter my motive, the less time I have to work on your gift."

Those chestnut eyes widened, as did that smile he loved so much. "My gift?"

V yanked the gloves from her hands and took a step back. "Good night, Sweet Eve," he began, bowing as he made his departure. "And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."

Evey grinned sheepishly as she watched him go, "Night, V."

Evey spent much of the rest of the evening lounging about. She sat down to watch another film, munching on the leftover popcorn, though her thoughts were elsewhere. _He's making me something. I should make him something too... But what?_

She glanced around the gallery from where she sat, hoping for inspiration, though she found nothing. _What could he possibly want or need that he doesn't already have?_

Evey gazed at the leather bound novel on the table. V loved his books, but he had surely read all of the books in the gallery by now, as unimaginable as that might have seemed.

She turned her head and glanced to the kitchen. _I could try to cook something for him,_ she thought, but she knew her culinary skill wasn't anything worth mentioning, especially compared to the feasts that he cooked.

And there was the Wurlitzer, the 'dukebox,' as she had once called it. _'Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence,'_ he had once quoted to her. She couldn't imagine this place without music. Without the continuous melodies that filled the darkness of the Gallery, both its residents would surely go mad. V had music. She didn't need to give it to him.

'_Your company is all I require,'_ he had said. She could understand that notion, especially if he had never had a Christmas with someone else before, but he always had her company, now more than ever. _Perhaps that really is sufficient?_ She shook her head at the thought, abandoning her post at the sofa, the movie forgotten. She'd have to find something.

Evey wandered from room to room for hours, brainstorming as she went. Falling short of her mission, she sat in defeat before her most favored painting. "What do you give to a man who has everything?" she asked, gazing into the most woeful eyes ever to grace canvas.

"If only I could go above," she sighed, looking down at the floor. "Perhaps I could find him something there." She smirked, tracing a crack in the stone with the pad of her finger. "He's probably right though, isn't he?" She asked the maiden, "It's too dangerous for me up there."

She looked up again and gave a crooked smile. "My London is your Camelot isn't it, Lady? We are trapped here by our own choosing.

"Was it worth it? To face your fate so that your love would look upon you and say that you are fair?"

The Lady of Shalott didn't respond, but Evey knew the pain within those somber eyes, knew it to be her answer.

"I will keep weaving then," she whispered with a smile. She then stood up from the floor, walking slowly to her bedroom.

Deep within the shadows of the Gallery a deep, rich voice sounded, "She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace."

-----

'Good night, sweet prince (Eve). And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.' William Shakespeare

'Music is the wine that fills the cup of silence.' Robert Fripp

The Lady of Shalott (Painting) by John William Waterhouse - Disclaimer applies

'She has a lovely face; God in his mercy lend her grace.' Alfred Tennyson's 'Lady of Shalott'


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended

-----

V planned to spend the entire day away. Evey was hoping that he would share at least part of the day with her, but he only showed his porcelain face for a few hours that morning.

"I am going to need today to myself as well," he told her as he fixed her a plate of eggs, toast and jam. She made no protest this time, but watched him as he placed the dishes in the sink.

He had prepared a few sandwiches which he left in the icebox and had promised to show again for tea at their usual time... His project was taking quite a bit longer than he had anticipated, he had explained. "Tomorrow you shall have my full attention, I promise."

Evey smiled and thanked him, watching him as he left the room. _What in the world could he be doing?_ she wondered.

Her day began slowly. She tried to dedicate herself to the movie that she had abandoned the night before, but it only reminded her of her failure to produce a suitable gift for her companion, reading affording her the same defeat.

She decided that she would busy herself with tidying up the Gallery as best she could, which, after a good deal of pacing, she resolved was futile as well. V was what one might call a 'neat freak.' If a statue was not positioned correctly, he would pull all the stops to readjust it. Evey was convinced that none of the paintings in the Gallery had ever been polluted by the likes of dust since they had been 'reclaimed' by their current master. She had been afraid to touch anything in the first few weeks of her stay, terrified she might contaminate the place.

In fact, the only room that was anything but perfect was her bedroom. That in itself was an anomaly, for as far as Evey knew, that room had never been tidy. The first time she awoke in that bed, she had been astounded by the abundance of books that lined every inch of the room. She was especially shocked when she introduced herself to the rest of the Gallery. Everything was so beautiful and perfect, just the opposite of the calamity she had claimed for her sleeping quarters.

There was no doubt that it had originally been V's bedchamber, for what good would a guestroom be to a man like him? It was that circumstance that made the situation even more astonishing. V wasn't a slob, that was clear, nor was he lazy.

Evey sat on her bed and pondered this. How many books were hidden within this mess? And how many had he lost to it over the years? She took a book off of a nearby stack and wiped dust off of the cover. V rarely ever entered her room uninvited… So how many of these books did he miss?

That was when it dawned on her. "I know just what to do!"

-----

When V emerged a few hours later, he found Evey sprawled out on her bed, her petite figure surrounded by dozens of stacks of books that littered both the floor and her mattress. He stood still in the doorway, glancing from side to side, wondering what purpose of this mayhem was. "Still weaving, my dear?" he asked, barely a whisper as he reached to switch on the light.

"Evey," he called loudly, smiling to himself as her head snapped up to look at him, her eyes squinting against the light. "What on earth are you up to?"

She rubbed her eyes and sat up carefully, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "It's a secret," she said to him with a yawn and a coy smile.

He chuckled and leaned against the door, his hands folding together before him. "Ah, then it would be only to your delight if I were to asked again."

She giggled softly and yawned again into her open palm. "I'm organizing the books for you."

"What ever for?"

She shrugged, a rosy hue coloring her cheeks as she examined the disorder around her. "I couldn't think of anything to do for you for Christmas, so… I thought I'd do this for you."

"Evey-"

"I know I don't _have _to but I_ want_ to. Besides, it'll give me something to do when you're away."

His only response was a slight tilt to the mask and then a nod. "Where do you intend to put them?" he asked, a charming passivity in his question.

"Oh, I hadn't thought," Evey said with a frown. "Have you got any bookcases?"

"None that aren't already full. How do you think this mess came to be?" he joked, the mask inclined to the opposite side.

Evey shrugged again, frowning at the pattern of her comforter, discouraged by his jest.

"I will get some for you," he assured her. "How many do you think it will take? Five or six?"

"If they are as large as the ones in the hall, then at least five, yes."

"Very good," he agreed, straightening as he stepped carefully into the room. "Your sandwiches are in the fridge still. You haven't eaten them?" he asked, realizing how redundant his question was.

She shook her head and slid herself carefully from her bed, taking the hand that he offered her.

"Would you care to help me with our meal?"

"Sure." He helped her pick a careful path through the obstacle course she had made for herself and then led her to the kitchen.

Once they had finished eating, V excused himself again for the night, promising his attentions again for the following day, and Evey returned to her room to continue her task.

She woke much later, without even realizing that she had fallen asleep again. She looked up as a shadow crossed over her face, finding V's silhouette in the doorway. "V?"

"I was merely checking on you," he answered quickly, as though he needed an excuse to be standing there.

"What are you doing?" she asked him, sitting up. "Where are you going?" She could see even in the dim light from the hallway that he had that obnoxiously tall hat on his head and that black cape that smoothed over his figure like a shroud of shadows. She knew what that ensemble meant.

The mask, which she could just barely make out now, tilted to the side in amusement. "Out."

Evey sighed. She hated how enigmatic he could be at times. "Is that such a good idea with your shoulder like it is?"

The mask turned the other way and Evey could almost see the smile beneath it. "Probably not, but I don't anticipate I shall meet any trouble tonight. On the off chance that I do, a little knot in my back won't slow me down. After all, I have two hands, two shoulders, and my aim is just as precise with my left as it is with my right."

When Evey opened her mouth to protest again, he held up a hand as though to silence her. "Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind and has given up worrying once and for all. Do not worry for me, Eve. I shall be fine. I have never failed to return before, have I?"

"Well-- No. Just be careful, okay?"

"I will."

-----

'Happy is the man who has broken the chains which hurt the mind and has given up worrying once and for all.' Ovid


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

-----

Evey awoke at last with a sigh. She never usually slept this late in the morning. She rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up in bed. Why hadn't V woken her up? _Christmas Eve!_

She jumped out of bed and ran for the door like a giddy child. _He must have decided to let me sleep in. _However, as she stepped out into the hall and made her way to the kitchen, she noticed that something wasn't quite right. The Gallery was still. No music; no sizzling oil in the kitchen, or scent of breakfast at all for that matter; and worst of all, no V.

The first thing that rose to Evey's mind was that V had been out the night before. She called out to him, panicking as she rushing around, searching every alcove of the Gallery in a frenzy to find him. _What if he has been injured or captured or… _No, she couldn't think it. Couldn't even acknowledge the thought.

Tears in her eyes, she came back to the kitchen, where the silly man, with the silly apron and the silly mask should have been standing, fixing her breakfast. She slumped against the wall in defeat, staring at the apron hanging on the wall. He wasn't here. He may never come back. And if the painful nagging in the back of her mind was the truth… Then she was just as well as good as… _Dead._

With a soft sniffle, she moved to sit, absently toying with a scrap of paper she found upon the tabletop. Did V have a backup plan for her in the case of his death? Or was his plan to simply let her perish in the case that he met his demise? As far as she knew, no arrangements had been made, but perhaps there was still a way for her to get out if need be. But then... What would she do? What could she do? She had been on the news. Everyone knew her face. Where could she go? Who would take her in? V wouldn't be there to save her again.

She reached up to wipe her cheeks, her eyes catching a hint of red as she took her hand away. There was red smeared on her damp fingertips. "How…?" She turned the seemingly trivial bit of paper over in her hand and found writing on it. Red ink.

_My sincerest apologizes, Evey, but I am afraid that I must away once again. As a man of my word, it is most regretful that I must break my promise to have the day with you. I pray your forgiveness and indulgence, as I will make this injustice well worth your time. I apologize again and will be back with you soon._

And the note was signed with a singular, most elegant consonant. _V_

Evey simply stared at the note. Alone. Again. She forgot to be glad that he was unharmed. She let the paper fall from her fingers as she sank into the chair. She should have known better. The lights had been raised, the dishes cleared after her midnight snack and she had no doubt there would be a refrigerated meal for her in the icebox. She sat forward and took the paper, reading it again. The panic wore off and the indignation set in.

How many days now was it that he had been gone? Well, not so much 'gone' as he claimed he remained inside the Shadow Gallery, but he had been away nevertheless. Two and a half days, by her count. _Two and a half days_ that he left her with nothing but want for his company. Without breakfast or much feeling at all, she stood and trudged back to her room.


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter 15 was too short and needed more, so here it is. After going through and editing all of these chapters again, I decided not to combine this with Chapter 15 because I would have to delete this document, and more than likely lose some of your wonderful reviews in the process. So I've merely made this Chapter 16 instead and left Chapter 15 short. Sorry! Enjoy!

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After a long day of work, V finally pushed himself away from his workbench. He swiveled around and gained his feet, nearly stumbling on the sleeping nerves of his leg. He chuckled and balanced himself with a hand on the table, lifting and rotating his ankle for a moment before trying it again.

His work was tiring. Not physically, save for the cramps in his fingers and the tension in his back, but it was tiring mentally. He put his hands on his hips and turned from side to side, enjoying the various cracks and pops he heard as he turned his neck from left and right. Earlier, he had been cursed with a horrible crick in his neck, but now as he stood, stretching, gazing at the finished masterpiece on the table, he knew it was going to worth it. Well... He hoped.

He took his gloves from the table and put them on, reaching for his mask next. Then turned the lights off and closed the door behind him as he left. Pulling a key from his pocket, he locked the door and then tried the doorknob to secure it.

He took a deep breath and then let it out, as he made his way back to the Gallery. The lights were low and no sound echoed through the arching alcoves. For the millionth time that day, his thoughts turned to Evey. He prayed she would forgive him for breaking his promise. He would explain to her tomorrow that it had been quite necessary.

He strolled about the Gallery as if taking a leisurely walk, admiring his belongings as he went. He stopped before the large grandfather clock and glanced up at its face. It was well past midnight and he had no doubt that Evey had gone to bed.

He turned his eyes to the corridor that led to her bedroom, wishing only to check on her. The corridor itself was dark save for a slight glow around the frame of the door. _Perhaps she is still awake._

He approached the door quietly and knocked softly. When there was no answer, he knocked a bit louder and then turned the doorknob, pushing the door open a crack. Evey lay on her bed just as he had found her a few days before: surrounded by mounds and stacks of books. He couldn't help but smile.

He didn't wish to wake her or invade the privacy of her room, but he could see a perilously high stack of books near her that would surely topple over her if she moved in her sleep. He only hoped she didn't wake. It would have been easily justified, given the circumstances, but he was hoping to avoid a confrontation. A groggy Evey was an irritable Evey, and given his absence of late, he hoped not to provoke her at all.

He pushed a few stacks aside to make a path as he approached her bedside. She looked charming as usual as she dozed soundlessly. He wondered how long ago she had fallen asleep and if she had eaten. As he carefully lifted a stack of books from her bed and moved them across the room, he considered waking her for a late tea. He came back to the bed and moved stack by stack, adeptly removing a potential crisis without waking Evey… He thought.

"V?"

He turned quickly to see a barely conscious Evey squinting at him. "Go back to sleep, Eve," he said gently, hoping to soothe her back to sleep with the sound of his voice as he had done on many occasions. And, just as he had hoped, her eyes slipped shut again and she was asleep once more.

He moved to the side of her bed and draped the comforter over her body, turned the light out and then moved toward the door.

"Are you done?"

_Done?_ he thought, wondering what she could mean as he looked back at her. But instead of acquiescing to her late night inquiry, he merely turned away.

"Are you done?" She asked again, yawning. He glanced back at her once more to see her turning in the bed, pulling the comforter tighter around her as she went.

"Done?" he asked finally.

"Yeah, with… Er, whatever it is that you've been doing these last few days." She rubbed her eyes and succumbed to a yawn before speaking again. "Are you done?"

"Yes, Evey I am."

"Mmn, good."


	17. Chapter 17

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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"I have a surprise for you," he had told her. Evey wondered how many more tricks V had up his sleeve. Thus far, he had yet to disappoint her and his past offenses were all but forgotten.

Evey had considered hiding away in her bedroom the entire day. To say she had been angry with V was a bit of an understatement and the only way that she could think of to get back at him would be to ignore him. But she knew she couldn't do that. She had been looking forward to this for quite some time and V had put so much effort into giving her the holiday she had asked for. Regardless of how things had transpired over the last few days, she felt like she owed this to him, whether she was mad at him or not.

She found him in the kitchen, just as she did every morning, and sat at the table with little more than a glance and a nod in greeting as he bade her a good morning and a happy Christmas. However, as he placed a plate of pancakes before her, her icy disposition melted almost immediately. Pancakes, or crêpes, as he preferred to called them, were her favorite dish. They were wrapped about a bit of strawberries and were drizzled with a golden substance which Evey was unfamiliar with. She dabbed a bit of the syrup on her finger and placed it upon the tip of her tongue. She glanced up to V with wide eyes only to find him watching her carefully.

"Is this--"

"Honey."

"Real honey?"

"Real honey."

Evey's jaw dropped in amazement. She had never had honey but once before the reclamation. She was about to ask him how he managed to get it, when he interrupted her train of thought and instructed her to eat. And she did. She devoured every morsel. As she ate, he went about cleaning and preparing for the meal that was to come later, humming quietly to himself.

After she finished eating, V ushered her into the telly room. He explained that he had recovered a program, decades old, that he thought she might recognize. They sat together and watched as a man began to tell the tale of his most memorable winter, Evey searching her memory for any hint of recognition. She knew the tune immediately, both from her childhood and as one V had been humming earlier in the kitchen. "The Snowman! I haven't seen this since I was a little girl. We used to all watch it. Me, my mum, Dad and Mark. We would sit together on the sofa and watch it on Christmas Eve." She smiled up at him and took his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "Thank you so much. This is wonderful."

The mask dipped slightly, a polite acceptance of her appreciation. "You are certainly welcome," he told her, his hand turning slightly to accept hers.

They watched the video in silence. Evey remembered how enchanting the little cartoon had been when she was child and, now, watching it after so many years still gave her that warm feeling of safety, comfort and normalcy. As the screen turned blank, she told V about the year that she and Mark had run around the house, pretending to walk in the air themselves. And how they would play outside in the snow, and make the tallest, fattest snowman they could build. She recalled one year when the very snowman she and her brother had idolized melted the very next day, just as in the film.

Sometime later, after Evey had showered and dressed for the day, she joined V in the main hall. He looked just as he had the day that they had decorated the tree, sitting in the middle of the floor with his legs crossed, his sewing box at his knee, red satin fabric folded before him. They were going to make a stocking for her, he explained, in spite of the fact that Father Christmas would have visited the night before. After a good deal of insistence from Evey, they made V one too.

He tacked them to the wall above the Wurlitzer and bought Evey back into the kitchen for some tea, tending to the turkey roasting in the oven. After some prodding, he handed his apron over and let her help with the Christmas pudding. At her request, he allowed her to bless the pudding by placing a large gold coin in the center, but set it in the oven himself. Then the stuffing, cranberry sauce, peas, sprouts, and roasted potatoes were to be prepared, with her help if course.

As they waited for the timer to ding, V poured two glasses of wine, the finest vintage in his collection, excusing himself from the kitchen for a moment. When he returned, he had an empty glass in one hand and a colorful paper tube in the other.

"What's that?" Evey asked, reaching out to take whatever was in his hand. "A cracker?!" she exclaimed, turning it over in her hands. "Oh my god, I haven't had one of these in years! Where did you get it?"

"I made it," he told her in a jovial tone. He carefully set his glass down on the table and poured another.

"Is this what you have been working on these last few days?" she asked, trying to hide her disappointment. The prospect that this was the reason why he had been gone was more than a _bit _disheartening.

But V simply sat back in his chair with a chuckle, the mask tilting to the side, his fingers steepled before him as he regarded her closely. "No, no, no, Evey. No, this took little more than an hour to construct. The rest is yet to come later." The mask nodded softly and Evey could almost see the smile beneath. He offered his hand and took one end of it.

Evey squealed in delight when the cracker popped. She wasn't at all surprised when V ended up with the larger half, nor when he handed it over to her. She insisted he wear the crown, to which he obliged without much argument, and sent the plastic top spinning across the table as she began to unfurl the small strip of paper found within.

"What do you call a crate of ducks?" She read, glancing up at him as she turned the paper over in her hands. She didn't need to look to know the answer, but she read it off anyway, "A box of quackers." She let out a facetious laugh and tossed the little piece of paper back onto the table and reached for her wine. "Couldn't find a better joke to put in it?"

V chuckled and caught the top as it rolled off the table, standing and stepping around her to the stove. "You don't find it amusing?"

Evey smiled, finding his incredulous tone more amusing than the little quip she'd just read. "I suppose it is in a way."

She stood to pour another drink and then crossed the room to stand beside him. "How long until dinner?"

"I should like to say another two hours at most. Shall I put a film on?"

Evey slowly made her way through two more glasses of wine and read a few chapters of Charles Dickens with V at the kitchen table. She had turned down watching A Christmas Carol on the telly, opting to stay with him as he cooked, settling to read the tale instead. V postponed their meal a bit longer than need be, enjoying her rosy cheeks and the way she stumbled over various words. However, when she reached to refill her glass, he decided it was about time to put the wine away and set the table.

Dinner was fantastic, by far the best Evey had eaten since she had been staying with him, and by far the most effort V had put into any meal in his recollection, even if Evey was due for some partial credit. The only disappointment Evey found was that V did not eat with her. She wouldn't complain. Not tonight. She would spare any form of an argument tonight. The only thing that mattered at that moment was that they were sharing this together. This was _their_ Christmas. Food, drink and pleasant conversation. That was what they needed, the both of them.

When she finished, Evey left V to his dishes. She wanted to stay, but she imagined he wanted to enjoy the feast he had prepared, and could see the unfinished glass of wine on the counter. So she helped him clear the table and left him.

He watched her leave, forever appreciative of her understanding. He took his glass from the counter and tipped the mask up to sip it. He wasn't worried. He trusted her enough to respect his privacy at least this much, even if the terms of such were becoming more and more hazy as the nights wore on. He quickly finished two more glasses of wine, a waste considering the worth of the libation, but his nerves were beginning to wear thin, and there was still more to come that night. Whether the wine was calming him or exciting him further, he couldn't determine, but it was becoming clearer by the second that he couldn't waste another moment, lest he back down from his task entirely.

He carefully replaced the mask and placed his glass in the sink. He then took a deep breath and made his way through the dark alcoves of the Gallery to where he found Evey, looming over the jukebox.

"Evey?"

"Done with the dishes already?" she asked him, glancing at him over her shoulder.

"Er… No. I will finish the dishes later." He stepped toward her, clasping his shaking hands behind his back. "I have a surprise for you, Evey," he told her finally.

She turned to face him and smiled brightly. "A surprise? _The_ surprise?" she asked hopefully.

"Yes," he affirmed, the mask tilting shyly. "You will have to excuse me for a few moments. I will return shortly, but I must ask that you stay here."

Evey nodded, "Alright."

-----

The Snowman by Raymond Briggs -- Disclaimer applies

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens -- Disclaimer applies


	18. Chapter 18

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

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"Evey?" V called to her from across the room, hidden well within the shadows.

"Mmhmn?" she replied absently as she shuffled through the songs on the jukebox, her back turned to him.

"Evey--" he said again, his voice nearly failing him as he took one step further into the light that the Wurlitzer emitted.

"What?" she said as she shot a look at him over her shoulder. Her heart nearly stopped.

There he stood, wringing his gloved hands anxiously, averting his eyes. Eyes she could actually _see_, for V stood before her in a new costume that she had never seen before. No mask. No wig. No high neck shirt. But a face. A real, animate, expressive face.

She turned and stepped closer to see him better, offering her hand out to him as an invitation to come to her. He didn't. Or rather, he couldn't. He had put so much work and hope into this but now his confidence was all but obliterated. It had been slipping from him from the moment he took down the porcelain mask and replaced it with another. He couldn't even look at her. He stood motionless, scarcely breathing.

_Get a hold of yourself, man. What are you so afraid of? You've worn these faces before. Just... Not in front of her. _Prosthetic faces. False skin and hair. This face the guise of a normal man. A face that had never been and never would be him. He had spent days, merciless hours working on it, perfecting it, hiding every inch of what he was beneath. So why was he afraid now when he had been so sure before? Why, when he had made certain that nothing could go wrong?

Evey made a tentative approach, squinting as she attempted to make out his features in the dark. She reached out and took his hands in hers and he jumped, his lips drawing apart as he gasped. She couldn't help but smile.

"Look at me."

He did no such thing. He merely turned his face away, clenching his jaw, holding onto what was left of his dignity and control. He couldn't look at her. Just couldn't. Nor could he size up her reaction by her voice alone and it was killing him. He wanted to run away, but his feet kept him planted to the spot.

"V," she said softly, stepping closer still and placing a hand on his chest. "V, look at me." Why was he being so evasive? "Please?"

Oh, how V loathed that pleading little voice of hers. _When had she gained the power to make me so submissive?_ Truth be told, it had always been that way, and they both knew it. There had always been something in the way she looked up at him and spoke to him that softened his resolve.

"Please?"

Slowly, hesitantly, he turned his head back and raised his eyes to hers. The gentle wisp of a smile on her face helped to relieve some of his apprehension, as did her quiet giggle. His skin flushed. He wondered if she could see it.

"Come, come, I can't see you very well." She tugged on his hands as she moved to lead him toward the Wurlitzer, never once taking her eyes off of him. It was the only light in the room and she knew it would be far more taxing to try to drag him to the kitchen, especially given the panicked look on his face.

He didn't budge. _Fight or flight. Fight or flight._ He couldn't retreat now and he certainly couldn't fight what he had brought upon himself. What had he expected? To allow her a quick glance and then to disappear back into the shadows?

_What am I doing? I didn't think this through. Why am I doing this? _He kicked himself mentally._ You wanted this, remember? _His subconscious argued back._ For her to see a part of you that no one else will ever see. For her to know you... Not as the Devil in disguise, nor the murderer in the matinee, but as the man that you refuse to be. That you want to be... For her._

Evey stopped tugging on his hands and came to stand before him.

_But what if she doesn't see it that way?_

"V?"

_What will you have lost, old man?_

His head nodded slowly in the dark, and his legs began to work as he took a step toward her, with her across the room. Closer to the jukebox Evey led him, as if to pick out a song with him, though she made no attempt to look at the selection. V, however, took full advantage of the opportunity to look away, a hand atop the glass casing: a means of stability for his quaking nerves. Fight or flight. _Fight the flight..._

_He doesn't look anything like I thought he would,_ Evey thought, trying to hold back her girlish grin. He had light brown hair that framed his face and swept down across his brow. A strong chin and jaw, a long pointed nose, and smooth pink lips against unblemished white skin. And his eyes...

"V, look at me," she requested again, this time receiving his gaze immediately.

_Fight the flight._

"Blue," she whispered softly. "Your eyes. They're blue." And they were; they were of the deepest blue-- the deepest that she had ever seen. Evey Hammond stood before the infamous terrorist called V, gazing into his dazzling eyes. She could hardly believe it.

V lips twitched softly. "Yes," he replied. "Yes, they are." And he stared back at her, as he had countless times before through the black screen of the eyes of Guy Fawkes.

"They're beautiful," she added softly, finally drawing the softest smile to his lips. She had seen him look down at her with those eyes and speak to her with those lips. She had dreamed of this. To see him at last and to hold his gaze. To _see_ him speak to hear with that voice she loved.

"Thank you," he replied quietly. He was beginning to breathe again. He look down once more with the true intent of selecting a new song.

However, Evey inched closer to him, sliding between he and Wurlitzer, obstructing his view, her hand resting gently on his chest once more. "Say something."

His brows quirked in a most charming manner, a shy smile appearing once again. "I'm sorry?" He tipped his chin down as he often did to tilt the mask. His knees were shaking. Did she notice?

Evey blushed. Was it growing warmer in the room? Did he feel it? _Too much wine. I'm dreaming again._ She felt as though she was having to suppress a giggle at every single move he made, every flit of his eyes across her face.

"Say something. Recite something. Shakespeare, Oscar Wilde. I have to see you say it. I have to see it on these lips." And without a thought, she reached to touch the object of her admiration.

"No," he snapped suddenly, stopping her hand before it reached its target. His expression hardened at once, though his voice regained its calm, mellow tone. "Evey. I-- Please don't."

Her face fell and she looked down as he placed her hand back on his chest. "Why not?"

He sighed, cursing himself internally. He wanted and needed complete control of this situation and he was losing it along with his confidence once more. "This is not my true face," he began, working around the lump in his throat.

She raised her eyes and peered up at him. "What? What are you talking about."

"This," he motioned to his face, "is merely another mask."

Her brows furrowed and she shook her head. "Wh-- It's.. Huh?"

V groaned internally. He had wished never to go into this with her, but it seemed she left him no choice. He put his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them gently, tilting his head once more. "You have seen my hands, Evey. And my forearms."

"Yes," she agreed, though she wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"You asked me weeks ago what had happened, and I told you there had been a fire," he explained patiently.

She nodded.

"The fire did not damage only my hands" he told her, his eyes darkening. He couldn't bring himself to elaborate. And by the look on her face, he knew that he didn't need to.

"Oh," she said simply. And there it was. Pity in the eyes that gazed up at him in terror. He knew it would come, though he had hoped to avoid it.

"As I have said before, Guy Fawkes is not a costume," he continued, hoping to answer any questions before they came. "It is a protection for both myself and for you."

Evey shook her head. She didn't understand. "Protection?" She hated herself. It had been only days before that she had confronted him about his disguise, days since she had spat accusations at him. Her head was spinning with questions. She grasped his doublet tightly and stepped closer, wishing to fall into his embrace, but the hands on her shoulders kept her right where she was. "But.. What does that have to do with me touching you?"

"It is prosthetic skin," he told her, releasing her at last as he began to back away. "It may tear."

"I'll be careful," she whispered as she followed after him, her voice taking on a tone V had never before heard. It was hushed and gentle but full of hidden meaning, almost intimate. It caught him off guard, slowing his retreat.

He came back to himself as she closed the distance between them and reached up to touch his cheek. He caught her hand, taking the other one too and held them both to his chest, shaking his head. "No, Evey, I'm sorry. There are too many... Risks involved."

Evey sighed and looked down at the floor, resting her forehead against where her hands lay over his heart. She stared at the rug beneath their feet, absently realizing that they had backed into the hall. V must have been trying to make his way back to his dressing room.

That's when it dawned on her. Evey's eyes widened and a wisp of a smile touched her lips. They were in _the_ hall. She wiped her expression clean and looked up at him, her hands sliding from his chest to his shoulders, his own hands gripping her forearms. "But, V... If I cannot touch you, then how do you expect to kiss me." The look that he gave her almost made her laugh but she resisted.

_Kiss you? What in the bloody hell...?_ He was completely bewildered by her contention. "I-- I beg your pardon?" he stammered, unable to mask his surprise, his voice hitching on that last syllable. What was she on about?

Evey gave him a wistful smile and looked up at the ceiling. "Do you know what mistletoe is for, V?" she asked, mirroring her inquiry from a few days before. When she brought her eyes back to him, she found him glaring up at the herb, his lips pressed in a fine line. He had unintentionally backed them into the central hall, where they now stood directly beneath the mistletoe he had been so very careful to avoid.

"Evey," he began but couldn't find the words to finish, lowering his eyes to hers. He merely shook his head and then emitted a nervous giggle. Evey had heard that giggle once before when she had first met this peculiar man. "Evey, please... I can't," the false smile he forced was painfully obvious, and he failed miserably at passing off her request as a joke. Another giggle and another shake of his head.

"Kiss me, V."

His breath caught in his throat. Those words. Words he thought never to hear. That voice of seduction. How odd that it calmed, or rather, sobered his nerves, centered him to the moment at hand. Didn't she understand what she was asking? The weight of her actions? Evey stood within his reach, looking up at him expectantly, her hands slipping over his shoulders to wrap around his neck. His own hands made a tentative trip down her forearms, once again considering what to do. He forgot that she could see his eyes as they lowered, following the gentle curves of her neck and collar bones, to her midriff and then away, cursing himself.

He remembered suddenly the first time that she had touched him. It had been the first time that he could recall feeling arousal in years as she stood revealed in her nightgown all those nights ago. Now, as his hands slid over the bare skin of her arms to her shoulders, he considered what it all meant. From that moment in time, their relationship had drastically changed. It felt as if every single moment since those first few had led to this one. Fate was taunting him now in the form of that cursed green weed above them.

"Evey..." He tried to begin once again, his head tilting just as it always did when he was uncomfortable, his eyes adverted from hers. "I don't--"

"V," she interrupted, shaking her head. "Just-" _Shut up, _she thought, glancing purposefully at his lips then up again to catch his eyes.

From her shoulders, his hands moved of their own accord down her sides, resting gently on her hips, moving around to the small of her back as he took a fraction of a step closer to her. His heart was pounding in his throat, every nerve in his body on fire as her petite frame arched and molded to his. _What have you got to lose? _He tilted his head down, his skin crawling as he felt her fingers upon the skin of his neck, moving up into the hair of the wig on his head. He sighed unconsciously, his hands moving up her back to hold her closer as he brought his lips to hers... But then, he hesitated and looked over her face.

"V?" she asked, almost a whimper, as her eyes opened once more. They were so close. So close that she could feel his shaky breath as his lips hovered above hers.

He turned his head, smiling softly as his nose brushed gently against hers, his eyes slipping shut. _Oh, Evey, how I adore you. More than you can ever know._ He brushed his nose against hers again and pressed his lips to her cheek, moving then to embrace her, his lips landing then on the nape of her neck. He couldn't. He shouldn't have hung the sodding thing to begin with. Now he had corrupted the mind of a confused, intoxicated girl. He couldn't allow her to forfeit her dignity simply to satisfy his maddening desires. He was asking too much. Much more than he deserved.

Evey, on the other hand, nearly sobbed, overwhelmed with disappointment. This was not how her dreams had turned out. This was the part where... Why couldn't he just... She squeezed her eyes shut and took a slow, deep breath. "V?" she whispered, scarcely realizing her words. She called his name again, and straightened a bit, hoping to draw his gaze.

He pulled away just enough to look at her, gasping as Evey captured his lips with her own. A tender, lingering kiss, perfect in its fervor and need, yet infinitely more disappointing than Evey's kissed cheek. V didn't move and neither did his lips as she kissed him. Like a statue. It might as well have been Guy Fawkes.

Evey pulled away, staring at him in confusion. _He doesn't want me? He doesn't... _Her eyes lowered to his chest, her hands moving down from his neck. She didn't move, didn't speak. How could she have been so wrong? How could he have let her believe... that he might actually... _What a bleeding coward._

But it was no sooner that the words had crossed her mind that V turned the tables on her. "Evey," he breathed, desperate to recapture this moment as he pulled her tightly against him, stealing both her lips and her breath away. And finally Evey released the sigh she had been holding, melting into his arms, clutching his doublet as her knees grew weak. This kiss: perfect in its fervor and need, and very, very real. No mere dream.

As V slowly pulled away, he rested his forehead against hers, looking down as he willed himself to breathe again. Wherever that burst of daring had come from, he was going to need more of it.

"May I make a request, Evey?" he asked breathlessly, straightening a bit to look at her.

"Anything."

"Don't ever ask this of me again."

She stared up at him in disbelief, almost shock, confused by his words. But as the last syllable rolled off of his tongue, he brought his hand from her hip to her cheek and pulled her to him for another kiss. Her knees finally gave and she slumped against him, rescued quickly by the strong arm that tightened around her waist, helping to right her footing.

"A man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this," he recited to her, just as she had asked, brushing her cheek with a gloved thumb, "To waste his whole heart in one kiss... Upon her perfect lips." A feather light touch there before he took them again, never wishing to let her go. He had kept his word... He had made it all well worth her time.

Fin

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'A man had given all other bliss, and all his worldly worth for this, to waste his whole heart in one kiss upon her perfect lips.' Alfred Tennyson


End file.
